


Marrying Absurd

by JenTheSweetie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, cavity-inducing domestic fluff, post-s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9466988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenTheSweetie/pseuds/JenTheSweetie
Summary: “Sherlock, are you and Daddy married?” John heard Rosie say from the other room.“No,” Sherlock said, shortly followed by, “Want to look at pictures of the inside of eyeballs?”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [催婚大作战](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9518216) by [LoveBBCSH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveBBCSH/pseuds/LoveBBCSH)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Marrying Absurd / Свадебный абсурд](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10636722) by [redheart_wr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheart_wr/pseuds/redheart_wr)



> Series 4 happened and now I've gone and done this. Thank you to Snapjack, who supported me through what felt like interminable writers block, suggested the changes that made this story work, and has been the best writing partner, fellow- _Sherlock_ -obsessee, and friend I could have ever asked for.
> 
> Title borrowed from my favorite Joan Didion essay.

“Sherlock, are you and Daddy married?” John heard Rosie say from the other room.

“No,” Sherlock said, shortly followed by, “Want to look at pictures of the inside of eyeballs?”

“Yes!” Rosie shrieked.

-

“The inside of _eyeballs_ ,” John said later that night as he matched miniature pink socks.  “I thought we agreed on ‘nothing with blood until she turns six’.”

“I panicked,” Sherlock said.  “Most of the children in her class who live with two adults have noticed that those adults are involved in some kind of romantic relationship.  Mum and dad, dad and dad, mum and mum.  Most people don’t live with their dad and their dad’s best mate who’s also a world-famous detective.”

“Well, Rosamund Watson was never going to be like most people, was she,” John said.  “And would you stop that?  How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of the clean clothes?”

“But they’re so warm,” Sherlock said from underneath a pile of fresh-from-the-dryer towels.

“You’ve got pants on your head,” John said.

Sherlock ignored him.

-

“How come you and Sherlock aren’t married, Daddy?”

“What was that, sweetheart?” John said, peering at the nutrition info on a packaged chicken dinner.  Nope, it had olives; Rosie wouldn’t touch it.

“You and Sherlock,” Rosie said, clinging to the handle of the trolley.  “Why aren’t you married?”

“Well,” John said, putting down the package and picking up another.  “That’s - er - well, you see, two people who are married - those two people are different than Sherlock and I.”

“Oh,” Rosie said.  John glanced at her, and then picked up the next meal option.  Damn: pre-made gravy.  Sherlock would throw a fit.  “I understand.”

“Good,” John said.  All right, this one was plain turkey; neither of them had any particularly qualms with turkey last he checked, but then you never knew with a four year old and Sherlock bloody Holmes -

“It’s because you don’t share a bedroom!” Rosie said.  “Well, that’s all right.  You can move into Sherlock’s bedroom, Daddy.  I won’t mind.”

“You won’t _mind_  - right,” John said.  “Sweetheart, do you want some chocolate?”

“Yes!” Rosie cried.

-

“You bought her candy,” Sherlock said as Rosie busied herself with her chocolate bar in front of the telly.  “And I thought _I_  panicked.”

“She thinks the only thing that’s stopping us being married is that we don’t sleep in the same bedroom,” John hissed, shoving a tin of biscuits into the cupboard.  

“Well, that’s quite logical for someone who was in diapers two and a half years ago,” Sherlock said.  “If it weren’t for your Victorian sensibilities, we could just tell her about sex and how we aren’t having any.”

“Shhhh,” John said.  “And you’ll speak for yourself about not having any sex.”

“Oh, come off it,” Sherlock said.  “The last time you had sex was a year and a half ago and it was with your accountant.”

“It still counts,” John said mutinously.  

-

“You know, Daddy,” Rosie said seriously from the back seat, “if you and Sherlock got married, we could have a big lovely wedding.”

“Well, sweetheart, I don’t really know about that,” John said.  “You see - ”

“Actually, no, probably not,” Rosie amended.

John smiled, relieved.  “Right, because - ”

“Because I don’t think Sherlock would like a big wedding,” Rosie continued.  “Not like you and Mummy had.  He’ll want something small.  Maybe just the three of us, and Mrs. Hudson.  Oh, and I think Molly and Greg would quite like to come.  And I suppose we could invite Uncle Mycroft.”

John glanced in the rearview mirror.  “Mmm,” he said.  “What do you think, shall we put on Frozen again?”

-

“Oh, god, Molly, what did you buy her?” John said, ruffling Rosie’s hair as she slipped past him into the house.

“Mostly books,” Molly said apologetically.  “I know you haven’t got space for them.”

“That’s all right, we’ll get rid of some of Sherlock’s,” John said.

“I heard that,” Sherlock said.

“I heard that,” Rosie mimicked, scrambling up onto his lap.

“You had spaghetti bolognese,” Sherlock said.  

“How did you know?” Rosie squealed.

“I’ll bet you can figure it out for yourself,” Sherlock said.

Rosie looked down at herself seriously for a moment, then looked up at Sherlock and grinned.  “I’ve got a stain on my shirt.”

“Correct,” Sherlock said.  “Also, it’s your favorite.”

“Is he training her?” Molly said, looking a bit shocked.

“I’m afraid so,” John said, rather proudly.  “What do I owe you for the books?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Molly said, handing him the bulging bag.  “Though, there is one other thing in there.  She picked out a dress - it’s a bit frilly really, but it’s - well, she said it’s for your wedding?”

John blinked.

“Are you - ” Molly lowered her voice and leaned in closer.  “John, are you seeing someone?”

“No,” John said.  “I’m really, really not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very much so,” John said.

“Right,” Molly said.  “Sherlock, is he - ”

“No,” Sherlock said.  

“All right then,” Molly said.

“Wait, you trust _him_  that I’m not seeing someone, but not me?” John said.

Molly shrugged.  “He might know before you did.”

“That is fair,” John said.

-

“Where are we?” Sherlock said, looking up from his phone.  

John blinked.  “At a birthday party.  For a five year old.  Did you only just notice?

“Mm,” Sherlock grunted, which meant “yes, but I’d rather not admit it.”  “Why am I here?”

“Because we’re going to dinner afterwards.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock said.  “And I’ve got an experiment I wanted to start.”

“The one with the dead pigeon?”

“Obviously.”

“Well, it can wait until she’s in bed, because I swear, if she finds it and it’s the sleeping hamster incident all over again - ”

“It’s on the top shelf and it’s labeled ‘broccoli’.  She won’t touch it.”

 “She’d better not.  God, is this clown ever going to give it a rest?”  

“Clowns are more likely than any other type of circus performers to have criminal records,” Sherlock said.

A parent standing nearby turned toward them and glared.  

“He was joking,” John said.

“I wasn’t,” Sherlock said, looking back down at his phone.  

“All right, finally - Rosie, over here!” John waved across the crowd, and Rosie bounded toward them.  “Are you all ready to go?”

“Can William come over to play?” Rosie said, pulling a small boy by his sleeve.  

“Not tonight, we’ve got dinner plans with Molly and Greg - would you like to introduce us?” John said, gesturing toward the boy, who had a bit of a runny nose.

“Oh, right,” Rosie said.  “William, this is my daddy, and this is my Sherlock.”

John covered his mouth with his hand.  “Nice to meet you, William.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock said, not looking up from his phone.

“Did you hear her?” John said out of the corner of his mouth as Rosie shouted goodbye to her friends out the window of the car a few minutes later.

“No, I’ve gone deaf in the past half hour,” Sherlock said.  “Of course I heard her.”

“She does know it’s a name and not a title, right?”

“I don’t see why it can’t be both,” Sherlock said, as if John were stupid.

John rolled his eyes.  “Everyone have seatbelts on?”

-

“I’m off to meet a friend,” John said from the doorway.

Sherlock glanced at him, then looked back down at the Lego set that Rosie had bored of; she was tapping at her tablet, giving directions to Sherlock when she thought he might be getting the spaceship wrong.

“A friend,” Sherlock repeated.  “You mean a friend of Molly’s who you asked to be introduced to so you could go on a date and convince your daughter you’re not about to marry me.  But you’re not particularly optimistic; you haven’t even bothered to put on your favorite pair of trousers, so you believe it’s _highly_  unlikely you’ll be going home with - ”

“Sherlock,” John said.  

“She’s not listening,” Sherlock said dismissively.

“Well, in that case, you’re an arsehole.”

“That’s a naughty word, Daddy,” Rosie said.

“You’re right about that, Rosie,” Sherlock said.  “And what have we said about naughty words?”

“We don’t use them,” Rosie said firmly.

“Precisely,” Sherlock said.

John sighed.  “I don’t like it when you two team up against me.”

“We know,” Sherlock and Rosie said together, with frighteningly similar smirks.

John realized he was fighting a losing battle.  “Don’t keep her up too late.”

When John got back to 221B that night, Rosie was asleep in her bed upstairs and Sherlock was asleep on the sofa. John kissed Rosie on the forehead and draped a blanket over Sherlock and climbed into bed thinking that the most annoying part of it all was that Sherlock, obviously, was right: even the favorite trousers wouldn’t have made a bit of difference.  

-

“Daddy, what’s that smell?” Rosie said.

“What smell?  I don’t - oh, god.”  He sighed.  “Go knock on Mrs. Hudson’s door, and if you hear me yell, you run right out to the street and tell the first person you see to call 999, all right?”

“All right,” Rosie said as John tore up the stairs.  It was not the first time her father had given her odd instructions; indeed, it happened quite often when you lived at 221B Baker Street.

“Sherlock,” John said, “what in the hell are you doing?”

Sherlock looked up from his beaker.  “An experiment.”

“Right,” John said.  “Well, you’ve set something on fire.”

Sherlock blinked and then looked around, only just noticing the moderately heavy smoke filling the kitchen.  “No I haven’t.  Nothing I’m using is flammable.”  He paused.  “Ah.  Except - ”

And that’s when the sprinklers went off.

“We have _sprinklers_?” Sherlock said.

“I had them installed after the grenade, don’t you remember?” John yelled, opening the panel to the sprinkler system and trying to remember how to turn it off.

“Of course not,” Sherlock said, grabbing his beakers and running into the living room.  “Why would I remember something so pointless?”

“Well, you paid for them - there we go,” John said, relieved as he keyed in the proper code and the sprinklers shut down.  

“Everything’s all wet,” Sherlock said from the doorway.

“Yes, water tends to do that,” John said, scanning the experiment detritus on the counter for clues.  “What did you do?”

“I believe it was the toast,” Sherlock said.

John stared at him.  “The what?” 

“I was making toast,” Sherlock said.  “And I forgot about it.”

John mutely turned toward the toaster in the corner.  The blackened bread inside was still smoking gently.

“It was time to buy a new one anyway,” Sherlock said, putting his beakers back down and sniffing one of them.  “Ah, good.  No water damage.”

“No water damage - have you not looked around?” John snapped.  

“It’ll dry,” Sherlock said.

“Sherlock, you can’t let things catch fire in our house.”

“You and Rosie were out,” Sherlock said.  “There was no danger.”

“No _danger_  - what about _you_?”  John pinched the bridge of his nose.  “You didn’t notice a fire in the toaster, Sherlock.  You’re mad, you are, absolutely barking - and anyway, when was the last time you made _anything_  in the toaster _-_ ”

“Everything all right up here?” Lestrade said, poking his head in from the hallway.  “Sherlock, why aren’t you answering your phone?  I’ve got a case for you.”

“It’s a bit damp,” Sherlock said, pulling it out of his sopping robe.  “A case?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” John said.  “You’ve got to stay and help clean this mess up.”

“Is the fire gone, Daddy?” Rosie said, appearing at the top of the stairs.  

“Yes, sweetheart,” John said.  “No thanks to Sherlock.”

“Did a pipe burst in here?” Lestrade said.

“What kind of case?” Sherlock said.

“Oh, right - it’s a good one,” Lestrade said.  “Locked room, but on the other side is a - ”

“Greg, we’re a bit busy right now, mate, can he call you later?”

“With what phone?” Sherlock said.

“With one you can go out and buy yourself once you’ve finished cleaning up from the fire you didn’t notice!” John snapped.

“If you hadn’t installed sprinklers, none of this would have happened,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Oh my god, you’ve got to be - ”

“Perhaps you ought to come back later,” Rosie said to Lestrade.  “I think Sherlock and Daddy are having a domestic.”

“Right you are,” Lestrade said, ushering Rosie toward the stairs.  “Want to go see if Mrs. H has any biscuits?  Maybe by the time we get back, they’ll have kissed and made up.”

“Not likely,” John said.

“Bring me up some toast!” Sherlock yelled after them.

-

“Rosie, they’re home,” Mrs. Hudson called.  “She’s had dinner and a bath but we didn’t get to story time.  How was the case?” 

“Dull,” Sherlock said, whipping off his coat.

“It wasn’t dull, it was a double M-U-R-D-E-R, you obnoxious - Rosie, what do you say to Mrs. Hudson?” John said.

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson, goodnight Mrs. Hudson!” Rosie yelled back down the stairs.

“Goodnight, Rosie!” Mrs. Hudson said.  “Boys, have you been getting up to funny business in front of her lately?”

“ _What_?” John said, nearly losing his footing on the stairs.  

“Because she’s noticed, and she’s taken quite an interest,” Mrs. Hudson said.  

“But we - ”

“And you really ought not to disappoint her,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Mrs. Hudson, we never - ” 

“Children don’t always understand, you know, but if you’re not ready to take the plunge, you - ”

“Mrs. Hudson, John and I have nevergot up to any _funny business_ , in front of Rosie or otherwise, and you know it,” Sherlock said briskly.

“Well, something’s got it into her head that you’ll be taking a walk down the aisle,” Mrs. Hudson said.  “She’s got your wedding all planned out and everything!”

“We’ll take that under advisement.  Good night, Mrs. Hudson,” John said, following Sherlock up the stairs.  “Well, she’s gone off her rocker.”

“You’ve only just noticed?” Sherlock said, hanging up his scarf.

John glanced up the stairs to make sure Rosie was out of earshot.  “Maybe we ought to talk to her again about how, you know, some people are friends, and some people are more than friends.  It’s simple, right?”

“Still not really my area,” Sherlock said.

“I mean, she’s seen movies, she understand - Ariel and Eric are married, but Ariel and Flounder are just friends.”

“Flounder is a fish!” Sherlock said, insulted.

“All right, I’ll be Flounder then,” John said.  “And I thought you didn’t watch movies.”

“It’s osmosis.”

John rolled his eyes as Rosie ran back down the stairs, all ready for bed, and threw herself down on the floor in front of the bookshelf.  “Hey Rosie,” he said, squatting down next to her.  “Remember how you asked me the other day about why Sherlock and I aren’t married?”

“Uh huh,” Rosie said, not tearing her eyes away from the selection of books at her eye level.  “It’s because you sleep upstairs with me and Sherlock sleeps downstairs.”

“Well, no, not exactly,” John said.  “You see, Sherlock and I, we’re friends.  Like how we’re all friends with Mrs. H, and Molly, and Greg.”

“Right,” Rosie said.

“But for two people to be married, you see, they have to be, well, more than friends,” John said.  “Like a prince and a princess, you know what I mean?  I mean, not that they have to be a boy and a girl - gender isn’t the point, it’s the things people do when they’re alone, whether they’re girls or boys - anyway, the point is - ”

Sherlock snorted.

“Something amusing?” John said, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, no,” Sherlock said.  “Please, do go on.”

John sighed.  “It’s just that - when two people love each other, that’s when they get married.”

“But you _do_ love each other,” Rosie said, looking between John and Sherlock, her little brow furrowed.  “Don’t you?”

“Of course we do,” Sherlock said, to John’s surprise.  “Just like we both love you very much.”

“But it’s a different love,” John said.

“Well, why don’t you change it into the one where you get married?” Rosie said.

John opened his mouth, then closed it.

“It doesn’t always work that way,” Sherlock said, looking intently at Rosie.  “What’s important is that we both love you and that’s not going to change.  You really oughtn’t concern yourself about weddings, anyway.  They’re dreadfully dull and people don’t tend like when you deduce them as they walk down the aisle.”

“Why?   _I_  always like it when you deduce people,” Rosie said.  

“Well, sweetheart, that’s because you’ve been brainwashed by a madman,” John said, while Sherlock preened.  “But Sherlock and I - we’re not getting married.  You know that, right?”

“I suppose,” Rosie said, pulling a book off the shelf. “Can we read _Corduroy_  again?”

“Of course,” John said.

After they read _Corduroy_  (twice) and got two different cups of water, John padded back down the stairs.

“Tea?” he said.

“I’ll move out,” Sherlock said.

John looked up.  “Pardon?”

“She didn’t understand.”

“That’s no reason to - ”  

“I'll find a new place. You and Rosie will stay here. She won't be confused."  
  
"Sherlock - "  
  
"It was inevitable,” Sherlock said.  “You can’t have expected to live in the upstairs room with her forever.”

"Well," John said, "surely there’s a way to - I always figured, perhaps you could move down to C, but really you'd still - I don’t know, we’ll sort it out - "  
  
"Sort it out how, precisely?" Sherlock said.  
  
"Well, I don't know, there're ways to - "  
  
"Are there really? Had you ever _really_  considered it? Or had you, like most people, simply muddled through your days without every really _thinking_  about - "  
  
"Look, I'd assumed we'd be together by now, all right?" John blurted out.  
  
There was a pause during which John considered jumping out the window.  He'd survived it before with naught but a twisted ankle; perhaps lightning would strike twice.  
  
"You had, had you?" Sherlock said.  
  
"Stupid," John said. "Stupid thing to say - look, _we'll_ move out, down to C, down the road, I don't know - "  
  
Sherlock stood up. "You'll do nothing of the sort."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said," Sherlock said, stepping toward him, "you'll do nothing of the sort."  
  
"But," John said, "you just said - "  
  
"I think that on further reflection," Sherlock said, "we may be able to, as you said, sort it out."  
  
John swallowed. "Oh," he said, suddenly very aware of how dry his mouth was.  
  
"Why haven’t you ever said anything about this before?" Sherlock said.  
  
"I've hinted," John said.  
  
"And you expected me to take those hints?"  
  
"In retrospect," John said, "that was probably stupid."  
  
"A bit," Sherlock said.  "Aren't you supposed to kiss me now?"  
  
"Oh, you smug bastard," John said, meeting him halfway.  

It was some indeterminate time later that John pulled back, sucking in a deep breath he’d forgotten to take while his lips were otherwise occupied.

“Right, then,” he said.  “I don’t know if this is the moment, to be honest, but do you want to - ”

“Of course I’ll marry you,” Sherlock said. 

“ - get Thai for dinner?”

They stared at each other.  

“Thai sounds perfect,” Sherlock said.

“Right,” John said, and kissed him again.

-

“I feel like we just had one of these,” Sherlock said, frowning at the people and presents clustered around Rosie, who was holding court in the middle of the floor.

“Well, children do have birthdays about once a year,” John said.  “Just be glad we’ve done away with the paper hats this year.”

“Actually, I thought they were rather cute.”

“Well, on Rosie, sure.”

“I meant on you,” Sherlock said, smirking.

John elbowed him to hide a grin.  “D’you want to help me cut this up?”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at the cake.  “I’ve got something to do in the other room, actually,” he said, backing away.  “Wish I could help, maybe next year - Mrs. Hudson, would you help John with the cake?”

“Not your housekeeper, dear,” Mrs. Hudson called back.

“I’ve got it,” Molly said, snagging two slices off the counter.

“Can you grab me a beer too, while you’re up?” Lestrade said.

There was a familiar tap-tap-tap at the top of the stairs.  Sherlock groaned dramatically.  “Just in time for cake,” he said snidely.  “What a coincidence.”

“Uncle Mycroft!” Rosie shouted from the other room.

“Happy birthday,” Mycroft said as Rosie threw himself at Mycroft’s legs.  It wasn’t entirely clear to anyone - including the man himself - why Rosie had taken such a liking to Mycroft.  In fact, no one was even sure who had told her to call him Uncle Mycroft.  Sherlock had spent many an hour attempting to convince her not to; his failure still chafed.  “Did someone say cake?”

“Uncle Mycroft, it worked!” Rosie said, swinging from Mycroft’s hand.  “They’ve had a kiss!”

“What worked?” John said, his brain struggling to catch up with his ears.

“I have no idea to what you’re referring, Rosamund,” Mycroft said.

“Who’s had a kiss?” Lestrade said, a forkful of cake halfway to his mouth.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Mycroft said smarmily.

“ _What_  worked?” John repeated.

“Didn’t you hear me, Uncle Mycroft?” Rosie said.  “It’s Daddy and Sherlock who kissed, just like you said they would!”

There was a silence, and then - 

“ _Finally_ ,” Mrs. Hudson said, clapping her hands together.

“Have you _really_?” Molly said, grinning widely.  

“I swear I wasn’t involved,” Lestrade said.  “Much.”

“All right, get out, all of you,” John said, feeling a blush climb up his face.  “Party’s over, shove off - manipulating my daughter, conspiring with _Mycroft_ , I swear - ”

“It’s not our fault you two needed a nudge!” Mrs. Hudson said.  

“And it wasn’t a conspiracy, really,” Molly said.  “Really just a coordinated, organized plot to - oh, wait.”

“What’s a conspiracy?” Rosie said.

“I’ll explain it when you’re older,” John said.  “Sherlock, haven’t you got anything to say about this?”

“Well,” Sherlock said.

John whirled on him.  He’d been conspicuously quiet considering it had just been revealed that his archenemy and all of their friends had been colluding with a 5 year old to convince them to have a snog.   

“Oh, no,” John said.

Sherlock pressed his lips together.  “On the whole, there have been worse conspiracies.”

“Kiss him again, Daddy!” Rosie said, giggling.

“I’ll second that,” Lestrade said.

“Third,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Fourth!” Molly cried.

“Before you do that, might you bring my slice of cake?” Mycroft said.

“Right, I’m disowning all of you,” John said.

  



End file.
